


medusa laughed

by stillscape



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dom!Juggie, F/M, Mild Kink, Sort Of, the author's kinks are active and enthusiastic consent and post-coital cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: “When we talked about, um,experimenting,” he said, as though struggling to stay diplomatic, “I thought you meant it more… theoretically.”The expression on his face was so adorable that Betty automatically jumped from the bed to kiss him—or, more accurately, shetriedto. What actually happened was that she started forward, felt a slightly painful yank in her wrist and shoulder, and collapsed back against the headboard while Jughead (turned on though he obviously was) tried not to laugh.Jumping up to kiss her boyfriend would have worked a lot better had she not already handcuffed her left arm to the bed.





	medusa laughed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jandjsalmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jandjsalmon/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Jandy! I am probably the last person anyone expected to write this kind of fic (including me, I did not expect me to write this kind of fic). But the plot bunny has been beating down my door for a while now, so I finally just gave up and let her in. 
> 
> She brought handcuffs.

Her roommate had been bribed to stay away for the afternoon. She’d left her apartment door unlocked, and notified her boyfriend that he should let himself in upon arrival. She had chosen her attire, lingerie and a tiny camisole top, with extra care. 

Betty Cooper was ready. 

She was ready, but it took another twenty minutes of fidgeting for Jughead to arrive. Eventually, though, the front door opened. 

“I’m here,” he called. “Betty? Where are you?”

“In the bedroom.” She made her final… adjustment, humming with satisfaction at the satisfying little _click_. 

“Already?”

“Already,” she said. “Come back here.” 

She heard the muted shuffling of footsteps on worn carpet. A moment later, Jughead pushed open the door of her bedroom. For a full five seconds, he stood motionless. Speechless. Then he swallowed once, hard. 

“When we talked about, um, _experimenting_ ,” he said, as though struggling to stay diplomatic, “I thought you meant it more… theoretically.” 

The expression on his face was so adorable that Betty automatically jumped from the bed to kiss him—or, more accurately, she _tried_ to. What actually happened was that she started forward, felt a slightly painful yank in her wrist and shoulder, and collapsed back against the headboard while Jughead (turned on though he obviously was) tried not to laugh. 

Jumping up to kiss her boyfriend would have worked a lot better had she not already handcuffed her left arm to the bed. 

“Jug, that’s ridiculous.” She gave him what she hoped was a sexy grin. “How on earth could anyone experiment theoretically?” 

He pulled his messenger bag overhead and set it on the floor, stripped off his leather jacket and dropped it on top of the bag, and then sat on the edge of the bed. “I suppose you’ve got a point,” he said, one hand automatically reaching out to stroke her bare leg. “So what is it you want me to do here?” 

“I’m wearing lingerie and I handcuffed myself to the bed. Isn’t it obvious?” 

Jughead raised an eyebrow. “I’ll admit there’s compelling evidence you want me to fuck you,” he said, now rolling up his shirtsleeves. “But I need to hear you say it first.” 

“Jughead Jones.” She paused, and ran her tongue over her teeth for emphasis. “I want you to fuck me.”

  
  
  


They’d met their very first week of college, when he sauntered into their first-year seminar only two minutes before class was scheduled to begin and plopped into the empty seat next to her. He stood out for a number of reasons: he was one of only three boys in the class, he was wearing a gray wool beanie in the August heat, and she could see the edges of a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. He was also, she thought, pretty cute. 

After the syllabi had been distributed, the professor asked everyone to introduce themselves, including an explanation for why they had wanted to take this particular first-year seminar. The other two boys muttered apologies about the class time lining up with their schedules, but Jughead—after scowling mightily at them—gave his nickname and then said, “Have you ever read those internet listicles of the worst sex scenes written by men?” 

Betty nodded, though Jughead was looking at the professor, not at her. 

“I’m a writer,” he said, “and I don’t want to end up on one.” 

Later, Betty would find out there were much more nuanced reasons Jughead Jones had signed up for Intro to Gender Studies. He told her almost shyly a few weeks later, at the campus coffee shop, on the fourth of their study dates. 

“Can I ask you something?” Betty asked, pausing with the end of her pen pushed lightly into her lower lip. She didn’t wait for an answer. “What’s with your tattoo?” 

The tattoo was currently on clear display. Midway through September, the weather had taken a brutally hot turn, and today Jughead wore only a white tank top, the kind she did not like to hear referred to as a wife-beater. (He was also still wearing his beanie. She had never yet seen him without his beanie.) 

A bunch of kids in her dorm—newly freed from their parents, and still flush with spending money for the semester—had already started to get tattoos of their own. Everyone came back from the tattoo parlor eager to explain the meaning behind their new body art. The explanations were only interesting about a quarter of the time, but so far everything she’d learned about Jughead had been interesting, so she assumed he would fall into the minority. 

“That’s a loaded question,” he said, somewhat evasively. 

“How? It’s a snake in the shape of an S.” 

She felt the weight of his gaze increase tenfold. “It’s a gang tattoo.” 

Betty did an actual spit take, sending a spray of almond milk latte over her half-annotated printout of “The Yellow Wallpaper.” 

“I’m out now,” he said hastily. “My dad was the leader, so I just sort of got...shepherded in, I guess.” 

“Your mom didn’t object?” Betty blurted automatically. She tried to picture her own mother allowing her to get within fifty yards of a gang. 

The expression on Jughead’s face turned slightly dark. “My mom wasn’t around,” he said shortly. 

“Oh.” She took another sip of coffee, not liking the taste of her own foot in her mouth. “I’m sorry, Jughead, I didn’t mean—” 

“And then my dad got sent to jail when I was sixteen, so.” He shrugged, as though that was the end of his story. 

“So what?” she said. “What happened to you after that?” 

“I had one friend left who wasn’t in a gang. His family took me in.” 

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s… a lot.” 

“Yeah. It was.”

“And yet here you are,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Off at college, taking a gender studies class.” 

“Here I am.” Jughead gestured at the spread of materials they had on the table in front of them, the handouts and edited collection of Second Wave texts and a library copy of _The Feminine Mystique_. “There were some kickass women in the Serpents, but the whole culture was pretty fucked up, you know? It always felt off. I want to know why.” 

He took a sip of coffee and studied her face closely after he finished speaking, looking worried, like he wasn’t used to telling anyone any of this, hadn’t intended to tell her, and wasn’t sure how she would take it. 

“And I want to know how to be different,” he concluded. 

That was the precise moment Betty’s feelings bubbled over from mild infatuation to full-blown crush. 

  
  
  


One of _her_ goals for college was to put herself out there more, but still, it took another two study dates and a pep talk from her roommate before she worked up the nerve to let her pinkie finger brush against Jughead’s as they sat together on a couch in a private corner of the library, trying to make sense of Hélène Cixous. 

Jughead froze, and Betty looked up to see him staring at their fingers in what looked like near-disbelief. 

“Jug,” she said, trying to sound braver than she felt, “ask me out.” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asked, at once. 

Betty nodded, her smile deepening as an expression of wonder bloomed across Jughead’s face. 

“You’re… surprised?” 

Jughead’s pinkie drifted, hesitantly, over hers. “No,” he said. “Relieved. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you that since the first day of class.” 

“Why didn’t you just do it, then?” 

“Betty.” His entire hand covered hers, now, and he wrapped his fingers around to her palm. “Who just hits on a girl in a _gender studies_ class?” 

“Well, aren’t you enlightened,” she said, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. Jughead squeezed a little harder, and her heartbeat sped up. 

“So… Friday?” 

“Friday’s good. Friday it is, then,” Betty said, and then a few moments later, when it became apparent her heartbeat was not going to slow down and her brain was not going to return to concentrating on French high theory, “Can we kiss now, though?” 

Jughead’s free hand immediately swept across her jawline. He tipped her chin up ever so slightly, and then he kissed her so softly, so tenderly, that she felt it shimmer lightly into her toes.

  
  
  


They were nearly inseparable after that. By the time they turned in their final projects for the semester, Betty was sure she was in love. 

Veronica, her roommate, pursed her lips thoughtfully, and said “I think you’ve learned a lot this semester, Betty Cooper.” 

“I wasn’t a virgin before, you know,” Betty protested, although she wasn’t entirely certain that what she and her sort-of high school boyfriend got up to could really be classified as sex. _Penetration_ , yes, but… well, whatever it was, it had not been _good_ , certainly not in the way that sex with Jughead was good. “And virginity is a social construct, anyway.” 

“Of course it is,” Veronica agreed. “But… dare I say, I think you’ve deconstructed it?” 

Betty wasn’t embarrassed, but she blushed furiously anyway.

  
  
  


Though Betty had been certain her mother would object to the news that she was dating a boy who both had a tattoo and rode a motorcycle, Alice Cooper merely rolled her eyes and said “Get it out of your system now, Betty.” 

A full year later, Betty had not gotten _it_ out of her system. She was starting to think she never would. Their relationship hadn’t been without its share of bumps—he got moody sometimes; _she_ got moody sometimes, for very different reasons—and she couldn’t shake the sensation that Jughead occasionally worried that one day she would wake up and realize she didn’t want to be with someone who had once been in a gang. 

But they’d fought for what they had, and what they had was pretty great. They were better together than they were apart; of this, Betty was certain. 

Still, sophomore year brought a new set of stressors: did she want to start applying for internships now, or wait until junior year? She had to officially declare a major soon; should it be journalism like everyone assumed it would be, or did she want to point herself in the direction of pre-law? Could she handle a double major? And if she did decide to go pre-law, how soon did she need to start studying for the LSATs? 

Slightly more than halfway through the fall semester, when all her midterms were over and done with and final projects were beginning to lurk menacingly over the horizon, something in her snapped. 

She marched herself to the adult store that was only a few blocks off campus, and with her head held high, she told the woman behind the front desk that she was interested in a pair of handcuffs.

  
  
  


Jughead considered her. Clearly, he was not one hundred percent comfortable with the situation. “This isn’t how we usually…” 

“Well, that’s the point,” Betty said. “I wanted to try something different this time.” 

“What exactly do you want to try?” He glanced at the handcuffs. “And where are the keys to those things, anyway?” 

“On the nightstand. I can reach them, don’t worry.” She took a deep breath and licked her lips, wishing she’d thought to put on some dark red lipstick. She wasn’t sure why, exactly; this just seemed like a good time to be wearing dark red lipstick. “But I don’t want to reach them.” 

Jughead nodded, then crossed to her nightstand, picked up the keys, and pocketed them. 

“I want you to have your way with me, Juggie,” she said quietly. “Please. I want—I want to not have to make any decisions.” 

He nodded again. “Well, you know I’m always up for a challenge.” He considered some more. “What’s the safe word?” 

“Milkshake,” Betty said promptly, and Jughead grinned, clearly recalling—as she had been when she thought of it—their very first date. 

“Right,” he said. “Okay. Just—-give me a minute to think about what I want to do to you.” 

Betty grinned. “You have one minute, starting now.” 

A wicked gleam came into Jughead’s eye. “Oh, no, Cooper,” he said, leaning over her—almost, but not quite, close enough to kiss. “I have all the time I want.” 

Then he pulled the beanie from his head, placed it on hers, and tugged the brim over her eyes. 

“Think good thoughts,” he told her, and then he left the room.

  
  
  


He came back only a few minutes later. “Needed a drink,” he said. She heard the sound of a glass being placed on the nightstand. 

“You’re using a coaster, right?” 

“Betty.” His tone carried a tiny note of warning, and she nodded slightly. 

Without warning, his lips were on hers, cold as ice against hers. He kissed her, hard, until they were the same temperature. Then he pulled back so abruptly that a little noise came out of the back of Betty’s throat. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he mused. She felt the bed shake slightly as he settled his weight on it. 

“Touch me?” she suggested, before remembering she had set this up precisely so she wouldn’t have to make any decisions. 

“No,” Jughead said. “I think maybe I’ll just admire you for a while. It’s not often I can get you to stay still long enough to really look.” 

Five seconds passed, then ten, then fifteen, and then Betty’s body twitched of its own volition. 

“Patience, Elizabeth.” Jughead kissed her again, a small kiss, just long enough to be teasing. “You know, I haven’t really gotten to look at you yet. You’re wearing all these clothes.” 

“I’m not wearing that many—” 

“You’re wearing too many,” he said firmly. Betty reached out with her free hand, trying to determine what _he_ was wearing, but he moved out of reach. “Who said you could touch?” 

“Sorry,” Betty said quickly. 

“Don’t apologize, Betty. Just…” He swallowed. “Be good from now on, okay? Now, it seems to me like we have a little problem here.” His weight disappeared from the bed; she heard footsteps, and then rustling, as though he was going through his messenger bag. “Aha. There it is.” 

“What?” 

A hand landed on her hip, and then slid up under her camisole to her breast, where it picked at the lace on her bra, and she was already being driven crazy by her inability to see him. “How else am I supposed to get your clothes off when your arm’s cuffed to the bed?” 

Betty realized she had not thought this particular detail through. “Um,” she started, but Jughead pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. 

“It’s a good thing I always carry this,” he said. He pressed something cool and hard into the flesh of her stomach. 

“What is that?”

“Pocketknife,” he said, and then. “You trust me, right? This isn’t too much?” 

It felt like a lot, but then, wasn’t that the point? “I trust you,” she said. 

She couldn’t hear the knife open, but she felt the dull edge of the blade on her skin, just above her collarbone. She felt a slight tug on the strap, a little friction where the shirt pulled against her skin, and then she heard Jughead give a satisfied little huff. 

“Got it,” he said, letting the strap fall. “The other one I think I’ll do the old-fashioned way.” 

Fingers landed lightly on her right shoulder, and he tugged the strap slowly, pressing soft kisses down her arm as he eased off the camisole. 

The mattress gave a heave as Jughead climbed fully on top of her; she thought he must be kneeling between her legs. In silence, he worked the camisole off her torso, over her hips and legs and feet, still kissing her body all the while. 

A few of the kisses came _very_ close to her panties. 

Jughead must have tossed the camisole aside, because she heard the gentlest of thuds against the wall. 

“That’s better,” he said.

Then—not that she could see what he was doing, but she _felt_ it, somehow—he simply looked at her. He looked at her for a long, long time. 

He ran one finger softly along her curves. 

Just when she had started to think Jughead was going to torment her with minimal action forever, he swooped in to kiss her again. The kissing was no rougher than normal, even if it did go on for quite some time before he tore his lips from hers and began working his way down her body. 

“You’re supposed to be doing what _you_ want, Jug,” she said, after he’d tipped up her chin, run his lips down her throat, and sucked lightly at the usual magic spot on her collarbone. “You’re supposed to be having your way with me.” 

She felt him look up.

“What makes you think I’m not doing exactly what I want to do?” 

Betty was going to reply that this was what they nearly always did, aside from the fact that she was blindfolded and handcuffed, but held the thought when she felt two fingers trace the side of her neck. “I don’t ever say this, because it sounds weird even to me, but you’ve got the most fucking gorgeous neck.” 

He kissed her there, sucking just lightly enough that it _probably_ wouldn’t leave a mark. 

A shiver ran through Betty’s entire body. “It doesn’t sound weird,” she whispered. 

“Good.” He ran his tongue, and then his teeth, over a section of collarbone, and she shivered again. “These are gorgeous too,” he said, cupping a breast in each hand. “Do I tell you that often enough, Betty? Do I tell you often enough how fucking gorgeous all of you is?” 

She nodded. “You do.” 

“No, I don’t.” He kissed down her chest, down her stomach, down to the top of her panties. “That would be impossible.” 

“I—” 

“Impossible,” he repeated, with his lips right over her most sensitive area. Through the thin lace that separated them, she could feel his breath on her, soft and hot.

He kissed her through the fabric, and she twitched so hard the beanie shifted over her eyes. By now, Betty’s face had become incredibly itchy, and the movement made it almost unbearable. Jughead seemed to sense this, because the beanie was suddenly pulled from her face. 

“Oh, thank god,” she said, grateful she had a hand free enough to scratch. “I was just about to ask you if I could take that off.” 

“I want you to watch this next part,” he said, and he cut her bra off, too. “It’s too bad. I liked this bra on you.” 

“That’s why I wore it.” 

(It was, thank goodness, a cheap one from H&M.)

“But I’ve always liked it better off,” Jughead concluded. He turned the knife so that the dull edge was against her chest again, between her breasts—vertical over her heart—and pressed it in again, a bit harder this time. 

Then he dragged it slowly down her body. 

“Watch, Betty.” 

It was an order, and so she did. She watched until the knife reached the top of her thigh. Then she watched as Jughead slid it up again, catching the sharp edge of the blade against the lace at her hip. 

“I like these better off, too,” he said. With a quick flick of the wrist, he cut off her panties.

  
  
  


She was naked, but Jughead was not. At some point when she’d been blindfolded, he had taken off his flannel shirt and his shoes, but he was still very much wearing his undershirt, his jeans, and even his socks. 

“How’s your arm?” he asked. 

“Okay,” she said. It was starting to ache a little, actually, but she wasn’t ready to end their little experiment yet. 

He reached for the hem of his undershirt, but instead of taking it off, he merely readjusted it. Then he climbed in bed, hovering over her, and simply drank her in.

After a year together, their bodies were more than familiar to each other. She realized only now, as a denim-clad knee nudged her thighs open, what Jughead was doing. She _always_ insisted that he remove his clothes promptly, always wanted as much of his skin against hers as she could possibly get; the fact that he’d taken that away from her was… well, it was infuriating. 

It was infuriating, but—she inhaled sharply then, at the light brush of the undershirt against her stomach—it was arousing, too. 

But it was still infuriating, this increasingly prolonged foreplay. She was ready to get to the main event, and here her boyfriend was, still wearing all his clothes. 

She was about to say something about the socks, at least… until he buried his face in her and took a slow, controlled swipe with his tongue. 

“You’ve got a free hand,” Jughead murmured. “I want you to do something, Betty. I want you to touch yourself while I get your, uh… pink thing.” He grabbed her right hand, a little more roughly than he might ordinarily have done, and placed it over her. “Touch,” he said, again, raising an eyebrow. 

Betty shifted slightly against all her pillows, moving into a more comfortable position. “How do you want me to touch?” she asked. She didn’t usually touch herself in front of Jughead—not that she was embarrassed to do so. He’d seen her come undone in all sorts of ways by this point. He just usually liked to do the touching himself. 

“Slow circles. Like I would do.” 

She did. 

“Slower,” he said, as he rooted around in the nightstand drawer. “Just keep the engine idling. I don’t want you _too_ close.” He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “I want to take a lot more time with you.” 

“Jug—”

“And no talking.” 

He pulled out the so-called pink thing, a dildo with a g-spot stimulator that she liked to think of as sleek and elegant, along with some lube. But he didn’t move to use them yet. He tossed them casually on the bed next to her, then went digging around on the floor and came back with his flannel shirt. 

“Stop touching yourself now,” he ordered. Betty obeyed, and in a flash, he’d tied her free hand to the bedpost, too. “May I use this on you, Betty?” 

She nodded, by now desperate for some friction. “Please,” she said. Jughead warmed up a dollop of lube in his hands and spread it on the toy before gently inserting it into her. She groaned as she felt it enter. The pink thing was a fairly recent acquisition, and one she’d only used with Jughead once before. They hadn’t done a whole lot with it before falling back on their usual—Jughead was _very_ good with his hands. 

Betty wondered, now, how much he had been thinking about this toy, and how he might one day use it again. He certainly seemed to have a plan in mind now, as he moved it up and down until it hit just the right spot and made Betty’s whole body jerk. 

“Aha,” Jughead said, smirking a little. “Now the fun begins.” 

“You’re—” _Amazing_ , she thought, _you’re amazing, and kind of a jerk for teasing me this long, and you’re supposed to be doing what **you** want, and— _

“Quiet, Cooper,” he said, just before he began circling his tongue around her clit. 

She couldn’t, though. When everything finally crescendoed, when she thrashed against the cuff and the flannel shirt, when her body felt like it might be turning inside out, she absolutely could not keep quiet. 

Jughead didn’t seem to mind, though.

  
  
  


“You were supposed to be having your way with me,” she said, weakly, as he untied the flannel shirt from her wrist and then stood up to wriggle the handcuff key from his jeans. “You haven’t even taken most of your clothes off yet.” 

Jughead raised an eyebrow. “I had other things on my mind.” 

“Tease. Getting me all worked up, not letting me see, I—” 

“Quiet, Cooper,” he said again. He unlocked the handcuffs… from the bedpost, not from her wrist. “I’m not done with you yet. Unless you want a milkshake,” he added, as Betty stretched out her shoulder and wrist. 

“I don’t.” 

“Stand up, then,” Jughead said, tilting his head towards the floor. Betty stood up, and then they kissed slowly while she started undressing him, the handcuffs still dangling from her left wrist. 

As soon as he was fully unclothed, though, things changed. In a flash, Betty found herself half on the bed, bent over at the waist; in another flash, Jughead cuffed her hands behind her back. 

“You okay, Betts?” he murmured, as she shifted her head into a more comfortable position. “Want a pillow or something?” 

Betty shook her head as much as she could. “I think this is okay. Except…” 

“Except you’d normally touch yourself in this position,” Jughead finished, grinning a little as he touched _himself_. “Tough. You’re not doing any of the work tonight.” 

He was gentle as he entered her, and Betty couldn’t stop herself from letting out a low moan. She’d been on birth control since before they were together, but only in the last month had they decided to stop using condoms, too. He reached one hand around her waist and slid it down, finding her center with this thumb, and her body spasmed once, hard, around him. 

“God,” he muttered, and after that he wasn’t so gentle anymore. 

Her second orgasm was less intense than the first, but she could feel him close to her, the nails of his other hand raking her shoulder as he tipped over the edge just after she did. She focused on the details—a wrinkle in the sheet under her cheek, the front of Jughead’s thighs pressed tight against the back of hers—and decided the experiment had been a successful one. 

Even if her wrist _was_ a little sore.

  
  
  


Because Betty couldn’t help but be herself, even when she was experimenting, she carefully washed and dried all her toys and put them back in the nightstand before returning to bed for a cuddle. She lit one of her candles—the one that smelled like lavender and sea salt—and then climbed in next to Jughead, who was half-propped up against all her pillows, wearing only his boxers. He extended one arm, which she gratefully inserted herself under, and pulled her close. 

Because Jughead couldn’t help but be _himself_ , she knew this wouldn’t last long; they hadn’t eaten dinner yet, after all. But, she thought as she tipped her face up to kiss him, she would take what she could get. 

“You’re okay, right?” he asked her, capturing her left wrist so he could examine it. 

“My arm might hurt tomorrow,” she admitted. “I’m not sure. I should probably take some ibuprofen.” Jughead seemed to tense under her, so she added, “I feel good now, though.”

“You’re sure?” 

“Juggie,” she said, wrapping her arm tighter around him, “that was _amazing_.” 

He nodded, slowly. 

Betty tilted her head back a bit, studying his expression. “Are you okay with everything we did?” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t have done anything I wasn’t comfortable with. It’s just…” He sighed. “Stopping to think about it is a little weird, that’s all.” 

“Is that because of your past?” 

There were times, she knew, when moments from Jughead’s past would flare up. He’d told her a few of the things he’d been made to do for the gang, but there were bits and pieces she thought she might never find out. 

“Yeah, probably some of it is,” he sighed. Then he brightened somewhat, pulling her closer. “But it’s also weird to see you just give up control like that. Threw me for a loop.” 

“Hey,” Betty protested, but by now Jughead was grinning like an idiot, which felt contagious. “That’s not a fair assessment of my personality.” 

Jughead snorted. “Yeah, it is. But I like that you’re bossy in bed, Cooper.” 

“I’m not _bossy_ , Jughead. I just know what I like.” 

“You’re a little bossy,” he said, nuzzling a kiss onto the top of her head. “It’s hot as hell.” 

Betty thought about this for a moment. 

“So next time,” she said, “we put the handcuffs on you?”

  
  
  



End file.
